


Cell Test

by yohlenyaoilover



Series: Prison Break: The Project [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Male Homosexuality, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohlenyaoilover/pseuds/yohlenyaoilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs Scofield to start talking about Fibonacci, he brings in T-Bag to do his dirty work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cell Test

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my lovely project!  
> I've started re-watching Prison Break and plan on writing a short fic after each episode.  
> Each story will be titled to match the episode.  
> Sometimes the stories will relate directly to the main storyline, sometimes I'll pick out one moment that really strikes me and run with it.  
> This series will explore a whole bunch of pairings, with each one being a stand alone fic.
> 
> This story is for Season 1, Episode 3.  
> Michael refused to give up Fibanacci after John cut off his toes.
> 
> Let's go!

"I say we take his whole foot,"

"We could cut off all his limbs, he still wouldn't talk," John leant against the cold metal bars of his cell, "Maybe The Beatles were right after all, all you need is love."

The mob boss didn't take his eyes off the kid as he made his way to his shared cell. He was genuinely surprised by him. John had taken two of his toes and the kid still hadn't talked. Fibonacci. A small ache squeezed in his gut. If he didn't get the location soon, Falzone would move on his family, his children.

John tightened his grip on the bars of his cell. Michael was an attractive kid. Wouldn't be difficult to get someone to aid him on his mission.

-

John stumbled upon such a person the very next day. T-Bag was about as subtle as a fireworks display, the way he was making eyes at Scofield in the cafeteria. John could practically taste the malice in the air. It tasted bitter and grimy. 

"Got an issue with our little friend over there?" John rest his hand on T-Bag's shoulder and leant in close.

"I don't gotta come to you, you don't give the green light," T-Bag shook his head softly, fingered the shank he hid beneath the table. 

"Everything here runs through me, you know that," John practically scoffed, dig his fingers in to T-Bag's shoulder just a little harder.

"Maytag is in the ground because of that piece of detritus," 

"So now you want him," 

"Every day for the rest of his bid," T-Bag's southern drawl rolled through John. He lightened his tone in response. 

"Seems like you and I have something in common then."

-

It was easy enough to get Scofield alone.The kid barely seemed to know the basic rules of surviving in prison; a key one being that when you make enemies, you don't walk corridors alone.

John's men pushed him in to the store room and quickly shut and barricaded the door. T-Bag practically vibrated where he stood next to John. He had been given one rule for this encounter: don't kill the kid.

John's men manhandled Scofield until he was bent over the metal table in the middle of the room. His shirt had ridden up in the struggle, exposing some of that pale grey tattooed stomach and back. 

T-bag sucked in a sharp breath and pushed himself forward, hands reaching out. 

"Wait," John's voice was calm and controlled, made T-Bag halt in place. The mob boss walked to the head of the table where Scofield was being held down, one man on each of his arms.

"Tell me where Fibonacci is," John asked quietly. The only other sounds in the room were fabric rustling and small grunts of effort as Scofield tried to escape his captor's grip. 

"No," Came his strained answer. John sighed. Damn this stubborn kid.

"If you don't tell me I will let T-Bag do every single thing his dirty little heart desires. Do you understand?" He paused and looked down at Scofield. There was a light sheen of sweat forming on his forehead from the effort of trying to get free. Eventually Scofield nodded.

"Good. Now, where is Fibonacci?"

T-Bag was getting restless. John could see his tongue rolling along his teeth, could see him edging his way closer until the murderer was directly behind the kid. John had a pretty good visual on the effect the situation was having on the con. 

"Where is Fibonacci?" John raised his voice but still Scofield remained silent. John growled and slammed his fist in to the table next to Scofield's head hard enough to make the kid flinch. John looked up and made eye contact with T-bag, nodded once.

The Alabamian flew in to action, pushed the kid's shirt up to expose that tattoo, pulled down his trousers and underwear next until they were bunched around his knees. Then he used his long fingers to pull apart the newly exposed cheeks, pale and hairless.

T-Bag paused for a moment to appreciate the view before sinking those skinny fingers inside Scofield. 

The kid screwed his eyes shut and grunted. Without any kind of lube the intrusion must be painful. John breathed deeply and calmly, waiting. 

T-Bag pushed and pulled his fingers about for a few moments before recalling them. He spat directly on to Scofield's rear before pushing two fingers back in. They sank in much further this time.

"You know," T-Bag began, breath laboured from his excitement, "You look so pretty just like this." He leant forward, covering Scofield's body with his own, bringing his mouth close to the kid's ear.

"Don't go telling him where that guy is until after I've had my fun, 'kay?" T-Bag glanced up and held eye contact with John, smiling almost manically. Scofield just grunted struggled again, albeit much weaker in his efforts now. 

Eventually T-Bag grew bored with using his fingers and roughly pulled them free. He yanked his own trousers down far enough to expose his hard dick, flushed red and slick at the tip. He spat in to his palm and spread it across his shaft, used his feet to kick the kid's legs further apart. He positioned the head of his dick right there against Scofield's fluttering hole and then waited. He looked up and held John's eyes. An attack dog waiting for his master's order. It sent a shiver racing down John's spine, a dangerous spike of lust chasing it down. 

"Where is Fibonacci?" John asked one last time, his voice soft and melodic. No one could accuse John Abruzzi of not having patience. 

Scofield stayed silent, bit his lower lip harshly in an effort not to utter a single word. Sweat had broken out fully on his forehead now, a single bead dripped past his temple.

T-Bag's dick at his arse twitched in excitement.

John nodded his head once more. 

T-Bag groaned almost as loudly as Scofield did as he sank in to that tight heat. Threw his head back as he pushed his hips flush with that luscious arse.

"Holy mother, he is tight," T-Bag gasped out, his slim fingers dug harshly in to Scofield's hips. The kid was trembling, head to toe shivers racking his body, small grunts of pain escaped his tightly clenched teeth. 

John watched on indifferently, his men barely had to hold Scofield down any longer, such a mess he was. The force of T-Bag's thrusts pushed him further on to the table each time, his hip bones would be bruised and sore tomorrow. The pace was fast and brutal.

"Close," T-Bag panted finally, his trusts becoming erratic. Scofield groaned in relief, his breath leaving him in a rush. John frowned, he'd underestimated this kid. If nothing violent was going to break him, perhaps the mobster was going to have to try a sweeter approach. John tilted his head to the side and gave a final nod. Permission for T-Bag to finish. 

And finish he did, head thrown back and a loud groan on his lips. His hips pushed forwards, flush against Scofield's behind, stuttered in his movements as he came inside the tight channel. 

T-Bag fell forwards, panting heavily, spread across Scofield's back as his dick slipped from his loosened hole. 

"Let's hope he doesn't have anything transmittable," John's men chuckled amongst themselves.

"Hey, I resent that," T-Bag grumbled as he stood back up and straightened his clothes, tucking his spent dick back in to his trousers. 

"You can leave now," John commanded, voice curt and final. The Alabamian rolled his tongue between his teeth and hesitated a moment, eyes roaming over the mess he had made of Scofield before turning and making his way out of the store room. 

When he was gone, John crouched down until his face was level with Scofield's. There were tear tracks streaking the kid's face, his breath hitched periodically. 

"Now, all of this could have been avoided if you had just shared that one piece of information," John shook his head in mock regret, "And don't think it won't happen again. Every. Single. Day. Until you share Fibonacci's location."

Scofield's eyes ere unfocused but his shoulders tensed at the words, showing John that his treat was heard and understood. The mobster stood and brushed down his clothes.

"You know where to find me if you change you're mind about sharing," He left the room with his men following closely behind.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I have this sick need to see terrible, terrible things happen to Michael.   
> I'm sorry Wentworth.


End file.
